


Shakespeare in Love

by hazelandglasz



Category: Glee, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fluff, M/M, Poetry, Shakespeare Quotations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:13:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5474078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>@klaine-sexual send me an adorable prompt and I did my best to deliver :)<br/>“I was on my balcony and you started loudly quoting romeo and juliet at me”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shakespeare in Love

Blame the unusually hot weather, blame his roommates for leaving him alone, blame the brutality of finals, but tonight, Kurt feels melancholic.

And it calls for taking a glass of cider (a very tall one), a soft blanket because a cold is so easily upon him, and going to sit on the fire escape stairway he calls a balcony.

The Brooklyn night looks pretty in this mid-December, distant sounds coming from other, more energetic streets, and the dimmed light erases everything that could make Kurt reconsider his plans for the evening.

He has his phone by his side, playing soft piano music he doesn’t bother to check for names, and he leans over the rail to take a deep breath.

“ _Love is a smoke made of the fume of sighs_!”

Startled, Kurt nearly drops his glass and looks down.

In the shadows, he can see someone standing and looking up at him. He can’t see their features precisely, but whoever just spoke appears to be a man--not too old, judging by his voice.

“What?” he calls, uninspired and still a bit rattled by the surprise of it.

“ _See how he leans his cheek upon his hand_ ,” the man replies, making a gesture towards Kurt who is indeed leaning his head against his closed hand, “ _O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch upon that cheek_!”

Kurt’s cheek is slowly heating up against his palm, but he starts smiling, his mood slowly changing.

“Are you quoting Romeo and Juliet to me?”

“Ay.”

“Would that make me Juliet, and you the Romeo?”

A low chuckle before a deep sigh. “ _Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike_.”

This time, Kurt can’t help but laugh too. “Luckily for you, my father is in Ohio, so he won’t murder you for trying to woo me this unconventionally.”

“Ah.”

“It’s late,” Kurt says, trying to catch the face of his … wooer?, but not managing too.

Curse Bushwick and the poor lighting system.

“ _A thousand times, good night_ ,” he calls again, and even though he can’t be sure, Kurt is almost certain that he can see his “Romeo” beaming at him from the sidewalk.

“ _A thousand times the worse, to want thy light, Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks_.”

Kurt nods, and goes back inside, leaning against the window with a smile on his face.

“What the Hell,” he whispers before glancing outside one more time. “ _Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night til the morrow_.”

\---

The following night, the weather is not as gentle, a cold wind blowing over the city, but Kurt still wraps himself in a blanket and observes the street, waiting to see if his mysterious poet will return.

A man walks down the street with a heavy backpack, but the moment he looks up and spots Kurt on the balcony, he walks faster, a spring in his steps.

“Good evening,” Kurt calls, smiling when the man puts the bag down and waves at him.

“ _Do you not see that I am out of breath_?” the man replies, taking a deep breath and making a big show of it.

Kurt snorts. “ _How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath to say to me that thou art out of breath_?”

The man seems surprised, if the short laugh that comes out of him and echoes up to Kurt is any indication. “ _Amen, Amen, but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in your sight_.”

Kurt doesn’t even care if his suitor can see his blush, or if his smile widens too much.

Can it be, that a stranger makes him so happy with just a few words chosen from a play?

Apparently, yes.

“Still on a Shakespeare curve?” he asks, tightening the blanket around him.

“ _But Shakespeare’s magic could not copied be_ ,” the man replies, opening his arms in a “what can you do” gesture, “ _Within that circle none durst walk but he_.”

Kurt’s face must reflect his curiosity and his ignorance of the quote, since the man reaches for the back of his neck and he lets out an embarrassed sort of chuckle. “Drama major, literature student,” he says in form of explanation. “That was John Dryden.”

“Contemporary?”

“17th century.”

“You’re quite old school,” Kurt comments, wanting to see that face even more ardently.

A more open laugh. “You have no idea.”

“Tisch?”

“Yes. You too?”

But before Kurt can reply, the man continues. “No, of course not, I would have remembered you.”

“Do I really make that much of an impression?” Kurt asks, not really begging for compliments but definitely preening a little.

“Shall I compare thee to Helen of Troy,” the stranger (and Kurt is this close to calling him his personal Bard), “and claim that your face would, too, launch a thousand ships?”

Kurt wants only one thing then : to go down the stairs and kiss the words from the man’s lips.

“I’m Blaine,” the man says after a moment of silence, his voice soft and, dare Kurt think it, almost shy.

“Kurt.”

“Kurt,” Blaine repeats, as if trying the name on his tongue. “Do you make an habit of hanging on your balcony?”

“Only when I’m feeling melancholic,” Kurt replies, leaning over the rail. “Do you make an habit of using poetry on strangers?”

Blaine looks down, hiding moreover his face from Kurt’s gaze. “No, not really,” he says softly, and Kurt is grateful for the quiet of his street. “But I looked up and you looked lost in thoughts, and a bit sad, so I just--I was inspired.”

Kurt smiles, hiding his smile in the crook of his elbow for a moment, trying to gather himself before flinging himself in Blaine’s arms.

“Maybe …,” Blaine starts before shaking his head, and Kurt looks up.

“Maybe …?”

“Maybe I could make an habit of quoting poetry at a non-stranger?” he says in one breath and Kurt feels his heart skip a beat.

“Oh.”

“Forget it,” Blaine says, taking Kurt’s lack of enthusiasm for an apparent rejection. “It was stupid, I don’t even know why I--”

“Yes!”

Blaine looks up and just in this moment, one of Kurt’s neighbors opens their window and turns on the lights, and Blaine’s face is bathed in that light.

 ** _Oh_**.

“Go on a date already, and stop spouting nonsense at my window!”

“Sorry Mademoiselle Montant,” Kurt calls before returning his attention to Blaine.

He’s back in the shadows, but Kurt can still clearly see his face.

Those big brown, caramel-like eyes.

Those full lips, stretched into an unsure smile.

That small curl on his forehead, escaping the hold of the gel that keeps Blaine’s hair from his face.

All details that Kurt already cherishes.

“Tomorrow?” Blaine whisper-shouts.

“Til the morrow,” Kurt says in the same tone, watching Blaine walk away and, yes, look over his shoulder before turning around the corner.

\---

The next day, Kurt is waiting for Blaine on the sidewalk, with a bouquet of roses.

Blaine freezes before beaming at him. “There you are.”

\---

At their wedding, three years later, Kurt surprises Blaine by quoting Shakespeare in his vows.

It’s not Romeo and Juliet, sure, but it works just as well.

_ A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee. _


End file.
